


Flowers Speak Louder

by Kenda1L



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Because I'm All About That Sheith, Fluff, I Got Intimidated Okay, I'm Sorry, In Which The Author Does No Research, Language of Flowers, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Sheith Flower Exchange 2019, Sort Of, Sweet and soft, The Other Paladins Are In This But Not Enough To Tag, The kinkiest of kinks: love and affection, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L
Summary: He holds the flower up again. “This was left in front of the door.”Mr. Coran’s eyes light up. “Well then, it seems you may have a secret admirer, Mr. Shirogane. In the language of flowers, lilac signifies the first emotions of love.”Shiro’s cheeks bloom with heat and he’s sure he’s gone quite red with embarrassment. He clears his throat again. “That’s, ah, very interesting. I’m sure it’s merely coincidence, however. The wind was quite high last night. Perhaps it blew up here from one of the gardens.” The explanation is weak even to his own ears and the looks on Allura and Mr. Coran’s faces reinforce that.“Perhaps,” Allura allows doubtfully. Her eyes sparkle once more. “And perhaps Mr. Kogane will be able to shed more light on the matter.” Shiro barely manages to hold back a groan, blush spreading to his entire face as his mind turns to his gardener.***In which Mr. Shirogane has a secret admirer and a not so secret admiration for a certain gardener in his employ.





	Flowers Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zjofierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/gifts).

> Me, strolling in at the end of the party: What? I'm just extra fashionable, darling.
> 
> Written for the wonderful [Zjofierose](https://twitter.com/zjofierose), who requested sweet historical Sheith for the [Sheith Flower Bouquet Exchange](https://twitter.com/sheithbouquet). This is... kind of that? I'm so sorry. I had another plot, did a bunch of research, psyched myself out, and decided to write something completely different with more or less no research whatsoever. I hope you enjoy it anyway, bb!

Shiro nearly steps on the delicate blooms that wait just outside the front door of Shirogane Estates. It is simple happenstance that he looks down to adjust his cravat and manages to stumble back a step to avoid crushing them with his riding boots. It takes another feat of agility to keep from running directly into his dearest childhood friend, Allura.

“Shiro, dear, it’s unlike you to be so ungainly, even so early in the morning.” Her face is placid, politely concerned even as she steadies him with a hand to his forearm, but her eyes dance with mirth and one silvery eyebrow twitches wickedly. He resists the urge to snort or roll his eyes; he doubts she would mind the uncouth gestures but their chaperone, Mr. Coran, might. Instead he pats the hand on his arm gently before crouching to pick up the sprig of tiny flowers.

“You are correct, Allura. I believe my clumsiness may be excused in this instance, however.” He holds the sprig out to her as proof.

Allura takes it between two elegant fingers, tilting her head curiously as she studies it. The small clusters of light purplish pink flowers complement her fine features and the starlight hair carefully braided into a crown around her head. She hums thoughtfully, twirling it back and forth.

“Why, Mr. Shirogane, are you declaring your intentions toward my ward?”

Shiro whips his head towards Mr. Coran, who has joined them on the porch. His eyes widen with panic. “I. That’s not.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I apologize Mr. Coran, but I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly, Uncle,” Allura says. She hands the sprig back to Shiro. “You know as well as I do that Shiro is not of that...persuasion. And while I am quite fond of him, it is as nothing more than a brother.”

Bless her. He smiles warmly and sketches a small bow. “And you are my sister and dearest confidant,” he assures her. He holds the flower up again. “This was left in front of the door.”

Mr. Coran’s eyes light up. “Well then, it seems you may have a secret admirer, Mr. Shirogane. In the language of flowers, lilac signifies the first emotions of love.”

Shiro’s cheeks bloom with heat and he’s sure he’s gone quite red with embarrassment. He clears his throat again. “That’s, ah, very interesting. I’m sure it’s merely coincidence, however. The wind was quite high last night. Perhaps it blew up here from one of the gardens.” The explanation is weak even to his own ears and the looks on Allura and Mr. Coran’s faces reinforce that.

“Perhaps,” Allura allows doubtfully. Her eyes sparkle once more. “And perhaps Mr. Kogane will be able to shed more light on the matter.” Shiro barely manages to hold back a groan, blush spreading to his entire face as his mind turns to his gardener.

“I believe the horses are waiting,” he says rather than entertain Allura’s teasing.

Allura laughs but relents. “Very well, let’s be on our way. We wouldn’t want the horses getting impatient.”

Shiro sees the opportunity and can’t resist taking it. “Nor Lance, though I’m sure he would be willing to wait as long as necessary.”

Allura’s cheeks shade a pretty pink. “Indeed.”

Shiro makes sure to leave the lilac in the care of his housekeeper before they leave for the stables. Though he doubts their meaning is intentional, they are quite pretty and the thought of them wilting seems a shame.

***

The next flower to appear on his doorstep is one he recognizes. He studies the spiky, white ball flower and runs a finger along the tri-cluster of leaves. White clover grows on the estate, nestled among the lawns. He has always been particularly fond of it. As children Allura, Lance, and he would search the patches for hours, hunting lucky four-leafed clovers. Now, the spiny balls remind him of a certain prickly gardener; to most he is perfectly ordinary, just another part of the estate, but Shiro finds himself drawn to him anyway, admiring the beauty and soft heart that so many overlook.

The flower is not one typically found in bouquets. _ Not that this is a bouquet_, he reminds himself firmly, nor any type of courting attempt. Flowers appearing on his doorstep twice in a row can’t be coincidence, however. He contemplates writing a note to Mr. Coran to inquire as to the flower’s meaning, or perhaps just take one of the horses and make the short trip to the Altea Estate. The idea of enduring the inevitable teasing is unappealing but he knows himself well enough to recognize that curiosity will gnaw at him until he gives in. Far better to deal with it sooner rather than later. Perhaps they have a book on flower meanings that will spare him the continued indignity of inquiring, should the flowers continue to appear for some reason.

Shiro carefully tucks the clover into his vest for safekeeping and makes the trek down to the stables. He finds Lance in the paddock under the large oaks, sponging Red down. He must have just taken her to be exercised. Despite that, the chestnut filly is spirited, nickering and nudging him playfully.

At first he thinks Lance is talking to her, as it’s not an uncommon occurrence. But as Shiro approaches, Keith comes into view, leaning casually against the fence with one foot up on the railing. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms and his collar has been loosened, baring the elegant column of his throat. Shiro swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry.

Keith sees him first. He straightens quickly, falling into a more formal stance. Lance notices and glances over his shoulder. His grin is wide and bright. There’s no formality to be seen within him; they have known each other far too long to pay lip service to class distinctions. Besides, the Shirogane family has never paid much attention to such things.

“Shiro! What brings you down here today?” He continues before Shiro can answer. “No, wait, let me guess. You missed my handsome face, didn’t you?”

Lance’s is not the handsome face Shiro finds himself frequently seeking, but that is neither here nor there at the moment. “Always, Lance.” He turns to Keith, smile widening despite himself. “Hello, Keith. I trust this morning finds you well?”

Keith nods, clasping his hands behind his back. “Very well, thank you sir.” He bites his lip and shifts. “I was taking a quick break to assist Lance before tending the north garden.”

Shiro waves a hand dismissively. Keith has proven himself a hard worker many times over. The estate has never looked better since he came on board and even if that weren’t true, Shiro would never begrudge him as many breaks as he wished. He tells Keith as much and revels in the small, shy smile that graces the other man’s lips.

“Thank you, sir.”

Shiro steps closer. “I believe I’ve given you permission to call me Shiro on more than one occasion,” he reminds him. He gestures at Lance. “We don’t stand on tradition here.”

Lance rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath as he turns back to Red and resumes sponging her down. Keith’s smile widens a touch and his shoulders loosen. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Shiro.”

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh, charmed by Keith’s sly humor. “See that you do.”

Lance interrupts the moment with a dramatic sigh. “So did you want something, Shiro?”

Shiro swallows down his annoyance. He would have been perfectly content to spend all day attempting to keep that shy smile on Keith’s face. “I’d like to saddle up Black if you haven’t already exercised her. I have something to inquire of Mr. Coran.”

Lance’s eyes light up hopefully and his expression goes dreamy. “Oh? Do you intend to go riding with Allura after? Blue still needs exercise and you know Allura is particularly fond of her. I could ride her over with you and then check in on their stables.” His mouth twists into a scowl. “You know how lazy Rolo is. Someone needs to keep on top of him.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. He sincerely doubts the horses’ welfare is behind Lance’s generous offer. “That won’t be necessary. This is less of a social call than an information gathering session.” Lance wilts, so Shiro adds, “But I will be sure to invite Allura to ride tomorrow.”

Lance nods, looking appeased. He pats Red on the rump and digs some sugar lumps out of his pocket to feed her before hopping the fence. Shiro finds his eyes drawn inexorably back to Keith, who is now shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and looking off in the distance. Shiro searches for a way to include him in the conversation before he excuses himself. “Do you ride, Keith?”

Lance snorts. “Does he ride,” he mocks. “Keith could give _ you _ a run for your money. Not me, of course, but you for sure.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Oh? I’m impressed. Not many can keep up with me, much less overtake me.”

Keith scrubs at the back of his head, throwing Lance a sidelong glare before sliding his softening gaze back to Shiro, cheeks flushed with what might be embarrassment. “My family bred horses,” he admits. “I spent much of my childhood on horseback.”

Shiro perks up. Keith has so far been quite reticent regarding his past despite his years of service and Shiro’s best attempts. He wants to know more, wants to know what influenced Keith’s decision to eschew his family’s no doubt successful business in favor of tending plants. Perhaps he can invite Keith to ride with them, or even to join him alone if he can gather the courage to ask. Lance doesn’t allow him the chance to inquire. He points a finger at Shiro’s chest. “Hey, what’s that in your vest?”

Shiro follows his finger down to where the clover is peeking out. He’d mostly forgotten his reason for coming to the stables in the first place. He plucks the flower from his vest and holds it up for Lance and Keith to see. “It was on my front step this morning.”

Keith’s gaze is intense, fixed on the flower. Shiro’s stomach flips with something like anticipation or hope, though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t look away from Keith; he’s not entirely certain he could even if he wanted to. His eyes are captivating, the same deep purple-blue as the sweet peas planted in the courtyard.

“Ooh, like the lilacs yesterday?” Once again, Lance interrupts the moment. Keith drops his eyes to the ground. Shiro briefly contemplates throttling his friend. Only a little. Just enough to shut him up for a moment.

“Yes, exactly like the lilacs.” Shiro is proud of himself; he only sounds a little short of temper. “Mr. Coran is familiar with the language of flowers. I intend to ask him if it has any specific meaning.”

Lance throws a look rife with significance towards Keith. Shiro watches, bemused, as they appear to hold a silent argument. Whatever it is about, Keith seems to lose because Lance turns back to Shiro, mischief written into every inch of his countenance. He throws an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “Pshh, you don’t need to go that far. Keith here knows _ aaall _ about flower meanings.”

Shiro’s stomach flips again, this time with excitement. “Really?”

Keith shrugs Lance’s arm off and crosses his own, cheeks red. “I know a little.”

Shiro grins and allows himself to close the distance between them a little more. “Well now. I’m learning so many new things today. Perhaps you could teach me one more?”

He holds the clover out to him. Keith takes it gingerly and raises it to his nose, breathing its sweet scent deeply. His smile is equally sweet. “I believe it means _ think of me _ ,” he says, touching one of the spiny petals. “A four-leafed clover means _ be mine _, but I’m sure you are aware how rare those are.” For one brief moment he looks apologetic, but it disappears so quickly it leaves Shiro wondering if he’d even witnessed it. “A somewhat unorthodox choice, but certainly abundant enough around here for someone to easily obtain.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” Shiro says softly as he takes it back from Keith. His fingers tingle when they not-so-accidentally brush against Keith’s work roughened ones.

“We know,” Lance says dryly. “And so does your secret admirer, apparently. You can’t deny their intentions now, my friend.”

Shiro breaks eye contact with Keith, suddenly bashful. He brings the flower up to smell as a distraction. Its scent brings with it memories of childhood and leaves giddiness behind. He can’t deny that there is something thrilling about the idea that someone might find him worthy of admiration. “Ah. I suppose I can’t.” He chances a glance back up at Keith. “Thank you.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Uh, what...what for?” he squeaks.

Shiro frowns, perturbed by his sudden pallor. “For the flower’s meaning. Are you feeling well?” It _ is _ rather warm out today. Perhaps he’s falling victim to the sun’s bright rays?

Keith coughs and looks away. “Quite all right, no need to worry. But I, ah, I should get back to work.”

Shiro sets a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you should take a moment to rest out of the heat. You could join me inside for some fresh lemonade. You’ve never tasted anything better than Chef Hunk’s lemonade.”

“Hey, _ I _ want some of Hunk’s lemonade,” Lance complains.

“I see nothing to stop you,” Shiro says, full of sweet venom and charming insincerity. He is quite fed up with Lance’s disruptions. Lance’s smirk belies his innocence in the matter. He shrugs and mutters something unintelligible before leaving them to lead Red back to the stables.

“I really should get back to work,” Keith says firmly. He hesitates, then pats the hand on his shoulder. “But thank you for the offer.”

Shiro drops his hand, disappointed, but nods and backs up to a more appropriate distance. “Of course. Another time, then.”

“Another time,” Keith agrees, which helps to assuage his discouragement.

Shiro glances towards the stables. He no longer has a reason to visit the Altea estate, but he finds himself itching to ride anyway, and Black _ does _ still need his exercise. He smiles at Keith once more. “Very well. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. Have a good day, Keith.”

Keith sketches out a bow, mostly respectful but just slightly edged with impudence. “And you, Mr. Shiro.” Shiro laughs and shakes his head, inordinately pleased. He thinks they are done, but Keith hesitates a moment longer. Shiro raises one eyebrow, curious. Keith clears his throat and looks down for a moment before meeting his gaze with surprising boldness. “If you receive any more flowers, please don’t hesitate to ask after their meanings. I’d be more than happy to shed light on your admirer’s intentions.”

Shiro blinks, stunned but grateful for Keith’s offer. And if it means having a reason to seek the other man out, he is more than willing to take him up on it. “Thank you, Keith. I will keep that in mind.”

***

The next flower is honeysuckle and it smells divine. Shiro can’t help but bury his nose in the light pink flowers again and again. There are more of them this time, a whole bundle. He hesitates for only a moment before straightening his shoulders in determination. He is meant to be doing the estate accounting but putting it off for another hour or so is unlikely to harm much. He visits Hunk in the kitchen, who is sitting at the table with Pidge, the hermit his grandfather had hired to entertain guests and kept on to see what clever new invention she would come up with next. She and Hunk are scribbling away in their work journal now. Shiro makes out diagrams of some sort, likely far beyond his ken. With luck, they will allow him to patron them for once.

Hunk’s smile is bright and cheerful when Shiro makes his request. “Of course, Shiro. If you like, I can add a few of the pastries from breakfast. Oh! And some cut fruit.” He jumps up from the table and bounces excitedly around the kitchen, gathering supplies into a sack. Shiro cocks his head, curious as to his excitement but when he inquires, Hunk simply smiles and holds out the sack for Shiro to take. “I’m sure Keith is quite hungry by now. He forgot his mid-morning snack this morning.” Pidge snorts and goes back to their journal, deeming the conversation unworthy of her attention. Hunk rolls his eyes and tussles her messy hair, easily evading her cranky slaps. He holds the sack out to Shiro. “I packed lunch as well, since he will no doubt forget to return for lunch.”

Shiro sets aside his suspicions and takes the sack. “He does get lost in his work,” Shiro agrees.

Hunk shoos him out of the kitchen. “By the way, those are some beautiful flowers,” he says just before firmly guiding Shiro out the servants entryway. “Honeysuckle nectar is quite delicious.” He winks and shuts the door before before Shiro can question him.

Shiro huffs in amused exasperation. His staff are quite impudent. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s not hard to find Keith; he keeps to a strict schedule according to when the flowers are in need of tending. Today he kneels next to a bed of daisies and bluebells, shirtsleeves rolled up once more. Shiro averts his eyes, lest inappropriate thoughts make themselves known.

Keith looks up at the crunch of Shiro’s boots on the gravel pathway. Shiro is hopelessly charmed by the smudge of dirt across his forehead, no doubt the result of wiping sweat from his brow.

Keith’s gaze falls to the bundle of honeysuckle and his eyes light up with a smile, though his lips only twitch. “Mr. Shiro, good morning. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Keith,” Shiro greets warmly. “Does your offer of assistance with flower meanings still stand?”

Keith’s smile finally spreads to his mouth. “Always.” He stands, brushing dirt from his trousers and wiping his hands on a cloth before approaching. He takes the bundle when Shiro offers it and brings it up to smell, eyes crinkling happily. Temptation to thumb away the dirt on his face beckons, but Shiro valiantly resists. He is unsure whether he would be able to keep himself from trailing down to cup his cheek, feel the no doubt velvety skin just under his eye that is always just a shade too dark from too little sleep and too much work. He is unsure of Keith’s receptiveness to such advances, however, and has no desire to make him uncomfortable should they be unwanted.

When Keith has finished taking his fill of their fragrance, he hands them back. “Honeysuckle has a few meanings. It could mean bonds of love, or generous and devoted affection.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully. He wonders which message his admirer intended. As if Keith had heard his thoughts, he continues. “If I were to guess, I would hope your admirer intended the latter. The former seems...a bit presumptuous.” Shiro thinks he would not mind the presumption, were it to come from Keith.

Keith looks down at the pathway for a moment and when he looks up again, there’s a touch of red across his cheeks. Shiro hopes he is not allowing the sun to burn him too badly; he doesn’t take care of himself nearly so well as he should. He realizes suddenly that he has been staring. He coughs awkwardly and looks away for a moment before realizing that he’s being rude. “Ah, perhaps. Thank you, Keith.” He suddenly remembers his other reason for seeking out Keith. “I’ve been informed by a certain chef that you forgot your midmorning snack. Luckily for you, I have come prepared.”

He holds up the sack for Keith to see. Keith’s eyes widen for a moment. “Oh! That truly wasn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Shiro insists with a wave of his hand. “Keeping yourself well hydrated and properly nourished is important, particularly for someone as dedicated to their work as yourself. Come, take a break with me. I insist.” Keith hesitates. “I brought some of that lemonade,” he cajoles.

Keith chuckles. “I suppose I could take a break. If my employer insists.” He runs a hand through his hair, before grimacing. “I should clean up a bit first.”

Shiro takes in the smudge, sweaty hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, clothes stuck to his skin and dirt permanently ground into the whorls and lines of his hands. He looks perfect. “I see no need for that.”

“But—”

Shiro forestalls him with an upheld hand. He crouches next to the flowerbed to dig one finger into the soil. He swipes it across his own forehead. “There. Now we match.”

Keith claps his hands to his forehead, face flushing bright red under them. He wipes the smudge off and Shiro doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d missed most of it. He shakes his head with a small smile. “Very well. Since we match.” He allows Shiro to guide him over to a bench set in a small, ivy covered alcove. He watches as Shiro unpacks the bottle of lemonade, pastries and fruit. His eyes light up. “I love Hunk’s raspberry danishes,” he says as he takes one. It’s gone before Shiro has finished pouring the lemonade. “I suppose I _ was _ hungry,” he admits. Shiro laughs, surprised and endeared. He wordlessly hands another over along with a glass of lemonade. Keith eats this one a little more slowly.

Thy don’t speak much, but the quiet between them is comfortable. Shiro occasionally points to a plant or flower and asks after its meaning. He learns that Keith puts more thought than he’d ever known into his gardens. Each flower’s meaning matches and meshes with the others surrounding it, creating both a beautiful view and a tale. His respect and regard for Keith only continues to grow with every moment they spend together.

Shiro would be entirely content to stay here forever but unfortunately, Keith has duties he can shirk for only so long; even if Shiro has no care for it, Keith does and he respects that. He bids him farewell after pressing the sack with Keith’s lunch and the rest of the lemonade into Keith’s hand.

He trudges up the steps to his study. He doesn’t look forward to an afternoon of accounting, but Keith’s work ethic has inspired him. He adds the honeysuckle to the lilac and clover in the vase he keeps on his desk.

After a moment he reaches out and plucks a single honeysuckle bloom, pulling the flower from the stamen and touching the nectar to his tongue. He doesn’t think his admirer will mind.

The nectar is as sweet as the burgeoning optimism in his heart.

***

It becomes a pattern. Each morning, Shiro eagerly collects his flower and whatever treats Hunk has ready for them and finds Keith for brunch and conversation. His admirer offers up yellow acacia for secret love, a small branch of the orange tree for sweetness, a bundle wild grapes for mirth, which they share over laughter. He gets a whole bouquet of red chrysanthemums. “I love,” Keith says quietly. He doesn’t look away as he says it and when he hands them back, Shiro can nearly convince himself he is offering them up in supplication. His eyes are deep and intense, full of secrets Shiro longs to learn, but only if Keith gives them up willingly.

The seeds of hope put out their first tender tendrils in his chest.

Each night, he lays pen and watercolor to paper, recreating the day’s flower as best he is able before labeling it with the date and meaning. When a flower starts to wilt, he carefully presses it next to its drawing and adds it to his slowly growing collection. Someday, he will bind the pages together in a book and present it to his lover on their wedding day.

Perhaps. He can only hope that the one he loves and his admirer are one and the same.

***

Shiro wakes and for one brief moment, forgets the date. It comes back to him on a swelling tide of grief. He sinks back down onto his bed and contemplates the hibernation patterns of bears. This is his winter, and briefly he considers sleeping through it but his grandfather would be quite disappointed in him, were he to do so.

Besides, he needs to collect his flower. Once he has finished his daily ablutions and dressed himself in his mourning clothes, he goes in search of his gift. He wonders what it will be this time. He could use the cheer the bright blooms bring to his day.

To his utter surprise, there is nothing waiting for him. He searches the front porch and then the surrounding grounds but there is nary a flower in sight, beyond those Keith planted. Ice creeps through his body, turning him cold and numb. He is a fool. He’s grown accustomed to the tiny shows of love, come to expect them. One should never take love of any sort for granted but this is exactly what he has done. His admirer has no obligation to continue. They could be sick, or forgot, just grown bored or even found someone else.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He just wishes it hadn’t happened today of all days.

“Mr. Shiro?”

Shiro drops his hand and looks up quickly. Keith stands at the bottom of the steps, hands clasped behind him. He is well-dressed today, in black cravat, vest and pants with a slightly faded but well tended shirt in red.

“Keith, what brings you here today? I distinctly remember giving everyone the day off today. Even you.” He tries to bring some levity to his voice but it comes out weak and unconvincing.

Keith approaches. “I’m aware.” His lips quirk in a funny little smile. “I thought you could use some company.” Shiro’s chest fills with hope. Keith’s hands are still behind his back. He stops at a distance that skirts the edges of politeness. “Will you join me on a stroll?” He drops his hands from behind him. Shiro’s heart jumps…

...and then crashes. Keith holds a hand out to him, but it’s empty. Shiro sighs and takes a step back. “I appreciate the offer Keith, truly I do. But—”

Keith cuts him off with uncommon rudeness. “Shiro. I will leave you to your own company if that is what you wish, but I am familiar with the urge to be alone on days such as today and from experience I can tell you that one generally feels better with company.”

Shiro melts and gives under the weight of Keith’s kind understanding. “You used my nickname,” he teases with a small grin.

Keith bites his lip on his own smile. “My apologies, Mr. Shiro. I forgot myself.”

Shiro laughs, grateful for the lift in spirits Keith has brought him, however brief. “I suppose some fresh air might be restorative.” He takes the hand Keith still offers and tucks it under his bent elbow. “Thank you.”

They stroll slowly through the gardens, enjoying the sun and cool breeze. It seems a cruel irony that such a grave day should be so pleasant. Keith appears to have a destination in mind, gently guiding Shiro with the hand still on his arm. He brings them to the stable where Red and Black are waiting, already saddled and ready for riding. Shiro smiles in spite of his heavy heart.

“Of all of the times I’ve invited you to ride, you choose this day to accept?” he asks wryly. Keith pets Red’s nose and this time Shiro recognizes the blush for what it is.

“I thought you might appreciate the gesture.” Keith feeds a lump of sugar to Red, then hands one over to Shiro for Black. “In any case, we will reach our destination faster on four legs.”

Black nickers quietly and accepts Shiro’s sugar offering with stately grace. “Very well, then. Ride we shall.” He takes a moment to appreciate the ease with which Keith swings himself up onto Red before doing the same with Black. He gestures for Keith to lead the way.

“Lance was right, you are quite an adept rider,” Shiro comments as they head towards the fields that border his estate and Altea’s. Even riding at a sedate pace, it’s easy to see that Keith rides as though born to it. His reins are more for show, the normally high spirited Red calm and obedient as Keith guides her with his knees. Black is equally calm but her demeanor has always been agreeable despite her intimidating appearance; he’s unsure whether he could handle Red so easily.

Keith quirks one eyebrow at him. “Did you believe him a liar?” he teases.

Shiro chuckles. “Lance is rarely anything other than truthful but he is, on occasion, prone to over exaggeration,” he admits. “It is nice to see that he has understated the matter, in this case.”

Keith’s pleased blush at the compliment is quite gratifying. He stutters for a moment before grinning devilishly. “Let’s put that statement to the test, hmm?” Before Shiro can reply, Keith kicks Red into a gallop. His laugh echoes back across the field as Shiro whoops and urges Black to follow. He has a reputation to defend, after all.

Shiro feels wild and breathless with exhilaration when he finally catches up to Keith. He has a sneaking suspicion that Keith allowed him to do so, but he finds he doesn’t mind. They race side by side for another few minutes before Keith slows to a walk. Shiro matches his pace and looks around.

He hardly recognizes the field of forget-me-nots they ride through but the large cedar tree in the distance is heartbreakingly familiar. Fond memories and sorrow ebb and flow in his chest. He bites his lip to hold back the sound rising in his throat. He chances a glance over at Keith, wondering if their destination is by chance or design. He bets on the latter as they reach the cedar and Keith dismounts. After a moment’s hesitation, Shiro follows. He’s drawn to the tree as Keith stands quietly nearby. He traces the kanji carefully carved into the trunk, nearly too high to touch. Below that are English initials within a heart. They are both darkened with age and smoothed over by fingers tracing them countless numbers of times, just as Shiro does now. He remembers being held up by strong arms to touch the kanji that were too high for his tiny, chubby body to reach and years later, the scratchy press of the initials against his cheek as he hugged the trunk in lieu of his parents, his grandfather’s hand warm between his shoulder blades.

He wraps his arms around it now. The rough bark is still scratchy on his cheek and catches the fine fabric of his shirt but he doesn’t care. He misses the heat on his back with an ache he fears might never fully fade.

Finally he lets out a sigh and pulls away. He joins Keith at the edges of the shade provided by the large branches, sitting beside him to watch the horses nibble at the sweet grass and forget-me-nots.

They don’t speak for some time. Shiro watches Keith weave forget-me-nots together and lets the peace that exudes from him and their surroundings to settle over him like a blanket. Slowly, the grief recedes, leaving behind only the fondness behind.

“My grandparents found this tree and made it their own, not long after they moved here,” he says quietly. The words come haltingly at first but become easier the longer he speaks. “It reminded them of the cedar trees on our ancestral land in Japan. Cedars mean strength. That’s one I do know.” Keith nods, but doesn’t interrupt. “They carved their names and then later, my parents did the same. My grandfather would take me here every year. To celebrate their lives, he always said, not to mourn their deaths.”

“He was a good man,” Keith says. “I didn’t know him long, but he was always very kind.” Keith’s smile is sweet. “Much like his grandson.” He shyly holds out a necklace of forget-me-nots in offering.

Shiro dips his head and allows him to drape it over his neck. He fingers it lightly, then gives Keith a heartfelt smile. “Thank you, Keith, for reminding me to celebrate rather than mourn.”

Keith brushes the thanks off awkwardly, jumping hastily to his feet. He pulls a basket and blanket from Red’s saddles. “Well, if we are going to celebrate, then we will need refreshments.” Shiro laughs as he spreads the blanket out with a flourish and pulls food and drink from the basket. Fruits, cheese, fluffy, freshly made bread and tiny tarts that must have come from Hunk. The last thing he offers is a corked bottle sealed messily with red wax. “Persimmon wine,” he explains as Shiro takes it curiously. “Hunk helped me to make it.”

Shiro laughs in delight. “Persimmon? I had no idea they were still in season.” The fruit must have come from the tree his grandparents had brought with them on their journey from Japan.

“They aren’t,” Keith admits as he takes it back and breaks the seal with a knife he’d pulled from his belt, “or I would have brought some fresh ones as well. I. Uh. I made this last year. Just after Mr. Shirogane passed.” He pours the amber liquid and hands it over to Shiro. “I thought it would be appropriate to drink it now.”

Warmth fills Shiro’s chest and cheeks. He’s sure it reaches his eyes too, as he watches Keith pour his own glass. “Indeed.” They clink glasses. Shiro takes a sip and moans appreciatively as the crisp, sweet tartness bursts over his tongue. When he opens his eyes, which had somehow fallen closed, Keith is staring at him with wide eyes and red face. Shiro flushes as well. “My apologies for any indecency. It’s quite delicious, though.”

“Ah. Good. I’m glad. That you like it, I mean. It was my first time so I wasn’t sure.”

Shiro clears his throat as his mind goes to decidedly less innocent places. “First time, hm? Well, you are as talented a wine maker as you are gardener.”

“Thank you.” Keith takes a sip and makes a small, surprised sound. “It _ is _ good.”

“Did you think I would lie to you?”

Keith gives him a dry look. “To save me embarrassment? Absolutely.”

Shiro tosses his head back and laughs. Keith joins him a moment later. “I suppose you are right. I am utterly sincere, however. But I shall leave off complimenting you. I wouldn’t want your head to burst from all the blood rushing there.”

Keith mutters something that sounds vaguely insulting but Shiro chooses not to pursue it. Instead, he takes another sip of wine before reaching for the cheese.

Conversation flows as easily as the wine while they eat. The warm, glowy feeling inside of Shiro grows as the wine loosens his muscles and leaves him feeling languid and peaceful. They recline side by side on the blanket, looking up at the sunlight through the cedar needles in comfortable quiet. Shiro fingers the forget-me-not necklace around his neck. “I don’t remember seeing forget-me-nots the last time I was here.”

Keith hesitates for a moment before turning his head to look at Shiro. “I wanted to do something to honor Mr. Shirogane. They seemed appropriate.”

Shiro would like nothing more than to kiss this man, here, under this living symbol of his grandparents’ and parents’ love. The only thing that stops him is the memory of his admirer. He catches and holds Keith’s gaze, far past the point of propriety. Keith doesn’t look away. Hope flares once again in Shiro’s chest. “Keith…” Keith hums inquisitively and anticipation builds between them.

Cowardice overtakes Shiro and instead of the question he wants to ask, he says, “What do persimmons mean?”

For a moment, something like disappointment flashes over Keith’s face before it quickly smooths out. He sits up. “Bury me amid nature’s beauties,” he answers. His smile is wry and perhaps a bit resigned. “Again, it seemed appropriate.”

“Yes,” Shiro breathes. He tries to calm his pounding heart, to no success.

Keith stands and brushes stray needles off his clothes. “We should return. I wouldn’t want to keep you for too long.”

Shiro wants to argue, wants to tell Keith that he can keep him for as long as he’d like, but the moment has already already been dashed by Shiro’s yellow belly. He gulps down the rest of the wine and stands, ignoring the lightheadedness that momentarily overtakes him. “I suppose you are right.”

They are packed up in short order. On a whim, Shiro pockets a few of the cedar needles for his flower journal. They may not be from his admirer, but he doubts they will fault him this bit of sentimentality.

Their ride back is far more subdued, though the quiet remains easy between them. After they have cooled down the horses and returned them to their stables, Shiro lingers, unwilling to go just yet. “Thank you again, Keith. You have truly made this day a celebration of my family.” He takes a chance and takes one of Keith’s hands in his. “I don’t know how to repay you, but I promise to you that I will.”

Keith looks down at their joined hands. “You don’t owe me anything, Shiro.” He cups Shiro’s hand between both of his own. “But if you will allow me, I have one more thing for you before you go.” He disentangles their hands and disappears into the small tack room. He reappears a moment later with his hands held behind his back once more. Shiro’s heart jumps and takes off at a gallop as Keith approaches.

Wordlessly, he draws one hand from behind him and offers up his gift: a small pot that holds a very curious, spiny looking plant. “It’s called a cactus,” Keith tells him as Shiro takes it from him and cradles it in his hands. “From the desert region where I grew up.” His voice matches the slight tremble that runs through Shiro’s hands as he examines it. “Be careful of the spines, especially the little fuzzy ones. They’re prickly and will stick under your skin if you aren’t careful.”

“Like a certain gardener,” Shiro murmurs, fascinated by the odd little plant. It must have taken Keith quite a lot of work to obtain it. He looks up at Keith through his eyelashes. “What does it mean?”

Keith’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Endurance. I thought you could use the reminder of your own strengths.”

Shiro blinks. That was not the response he’d been expecting. “Oh.” He makes himself smile. It’s a very thoughtful gift, even if it’s not the declaration of love he’d been secretly hoping for. “I’m honored, truly. Thank you, Keith.” He bows his head, both in respect and to hide the shininess threatening to overtake his eyes. He has no right to the disappointment coursing through him right now. He leaves quickly, and if he pretends not to hear Keith when he calls his name, well, he is the only one to know.

***

Shiro glances up at the knock on his study not long after he’s barred himself inside. He hadn’t thought there was anyone else in the house, but Allura often comes by without notice. “Come in,” he calls, turning back to the numbers he’s busied himself with in an effort to bury his emotions in.

“I wasn’t finished.”

Shiro startles, dropping his pen with a clatter as his head shoots up. Keith stands in the doorway to his study with mulishly clenched jaw, eyes on fire, and a bouquet held out defiantly. “I. Keith? What—”

Keith strides across the room to stand before Shiro and nearly shoves the flowers into Shiro’s chest. “You ran away before I could give you this. I had a plan, Shiro.” Something like amusement infuses the frustration in his voice.

Shiro takes the flowers wordlessly, stunned at Keith’s vehemence. “I’m sorry?” he tries weakly.

Keith shakes his head, lips curving up in the barest smile. “Flowering almond for hope, myrtle for love, alstroemeria for devotion and loyalty.” He points out each flower as he speaks. “The rest, I’m sure you recognize.” Shiro looks down at the bouquet and his chest squeezes around his heart. All the flowers of the last few weeks, along with the others, create a riotous mass of color and texture that somehow still manages to come together into one cohesive declaration. “I should have added some ox eye for patience and maybe some black poplar for courage but I put it together before you ran away, so you’ll have to excuse their absence,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. Shiro gapes at him, stunned.

Keith’s shoulders start to slump as Shiro struggles to form the words he wants to say. “I love you, Shiro. I know this is unorthodox. I’m just a gardener and I have no right to pursue you, and you’re under no obligation to—”

Shiro sets the bouquet carefully on his desk, stands, and pulls Keith into a kiss. He swallows Keith’s gasp of surprise, and then the moan that swiftly follows when Keith kisses back. They break apart breathlessly after a few long, wonderful moments. Shiro presses his forehead against Keith’s and stares into those eyes that caught his attention from the very first moment his grandfather had introduced the newest addition to their household.

“I love you too, Keith. I’ve been hoping it was you all this time.” Keith’s eyes crinkle with happiness. Shiro presses another soft kiss to his lips, and then reluctantly draws away. He’s charmed by the way Keith clings for a moment before stepping back. “I have something for you, as well.”

He opens a desk drawer and carefully pulls out the sheaf of drawings and pressed flowers. He gathers his courage before handing them over to Keith; there is not a single soul currently alive with whom he’s shared his drawings, not even Allura or Lance. Keith’s eyes widen as he looks through them, treating the delicate dried flowers with extra care. “These are beautiful,” he whispers with awe. He sets them down on the desk next to the bouquet and flings his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Their third kiss is deeper, but no less sweet than the first two. “So you aren’t disappointed in your admirer’s identity?” Keith sounds flippant, but there is real anxiety underneath. Shiro pulls him close.

“I could not be happier, and I can think of no one who matters that would not be happy for us as well.” He reaches behind them to pluck an alstroemeria out of the bouquet to offer to Keith. “I intend to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you will permit it.”

Keith takes the flower, his hand, and his heart. “I do.”

And so Shiro does.

**Author's Note:**

> Zjo, I realized after I wrote this that you asked for no character death. I really hope this was okay; persimmon's meaning just got me right in the heart and I had to use it. Sorry!!
> 
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
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> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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